Sense and Sensibility (The Wild and Wanton Edition) by Lauren Lane Page A

because of me. You all go, have a nice time. It will behoove me to take advantage of a quiet house anyway.”
    Mrs. Dashwood studied her daughter carefully and then said, “Well, if you are certain … ”
    “Oh yes, Mother, I am more than certain. I shall retire to my room for an afternoon nap and I’m confident I shall awake feeling much restored.”
    Mrs. Dashwood seemed satisfied at that, and she and her eldest and youngest daughters whisked out the door. Shortly after they disappeared from sight, Marianne heard the gallop of a horse approaching and her heartbeat sped up. She sprung from her perch in the parlour, fluffed up her curls, readjusted her breasts so that they sat pert and enticing under the fabric of her bodice, and threw the cottage door open.
    There, wearing a grin that made her stomach churn in anticipation, was Mr. Willoughby. They stood there in the open doorway, staring at one another for a suspended moment, and then Marianne curtsied. “Mr. Willoughby. Welcome.”
    He bowed, his lips curling in amusement. “Thank you, Miss Dashwood.”
    “Would you like to come in?” She stepped aside.
    “I would.” He removed his hat and entered the cottage. Looking around, he said nonchalantly, “Is anyone else at home?”
    “No. My mother and sisters have only recently left for Sir Middleton’s, and the servants have gone into the village for supplies.”
    Mr. Willoughby’s grin became even more pronounced as he kicked the front door shut and came close to Marianne. “Yes, I saw your family leave. I was waiting at the top of the hill, disguised by the trees. I came down the moment I felt sure I would go undetected. I could not stand to be apart from you for one second longer.” His body was right up against Marianne’s now and he tenderly fingered the curls that surrounded her face.
    Marianne’s heart swelled at his admission and she lifted her face up to his. “The feeling is mutual, Mr. Willoughby. These past weeks of seeing you but being unable to touch you or speak the thoughts in my mind have been a torment.”
    At that, Willoughby grabbed a handful of her dress, pulled her tight against him, and hungrily took her mouth with his own. Marianne’s lips parted immediately, and she threw her arms around him, running her hands through his hair, as their tongues danced eagerly. Their connection was even more explosive than the last time, as now they had weeks of pent up lust pouring out of every cell in their bodies.
    As Marianne nipped at Willoughby’s lower lip with her teeth, he let out a groan and took her breasts in his hands. They were round and full and the perfect size to fill his hands. He yanked the top of her dress down to free her breast, ripping the shoulders in his haste, but he did not stop his actions. “I apologize, Miss Dashwood,” he murmured as he leaned down to bring his mouth to one of her ripe and ready nipples. “I shall buy you another one.”
    “Do not apologize for anything to-day, Mr. Willoughby,” she replied, gasping as his tongue rapidly circled one of her peaks. She pressed herself further into his mouth and he took her willingly, sucking firmly. With his hand he reached up and pinched her other nipple tightly between his forefinger and thumb, using his nail to add a hint of sharpness to the sensation.
    The combination of his soft, wet, luscious sucking on one breast and his sharp, almost painful tweaking on the other pushed Marianne swiftly toward the edge. She fell back against the door, moaning in pleasure. And then, so quickly she didn’t even feel him do it, he switched, taking the other breast into his mouth and teasing the wet one with his fingers. All at once, Marianne cried out, her body shuddering with intensity, and she threw her hands to either side of the doorjamb to keep herself upright.
    Slowly, Willoughby pulled back from her breast and took in the sight before him. Marianne was flushed with pleasure, her legs still quivering, her top half exposed